​​​​​​Because humor is funnier when you know it's true.

So, back to the beginning.  On my first visit, I met Charlotte in bed where she spent her days with her white fufu dog, you know the kind that are small, frail, usually shake, bark a lot and with one misstep you could cause their unfortunate demise. Not really considered part of the canine family for those of us who are real big dog lovers. Anyway, she had her fufu dog in bed with her and I did ask her who walks fufu. She told me, "Oh my dear, no one walks her anymore, she died 3 days ago". 

"Oh", I said brilliantly. I seemed to be at a loss for words. She told me that her fufu had been with her too many years to give him up now. There was no arguing with Charlotte. I was too tired and in partial shock by now. 

I took her vitals, poured out her meds and just talked with her. Charlotte liked to talk and share stories of her past. She had been an artist and a sculptor in her day, although there were no signs of artwork anywhere. She talked a lot about one particular sculpture of a face that she did. She asked me if I would like to see it. "Sure", I said, happily willing to share a part of her life that had been so important to her. I bent over to look as she took out this lovely box from under her table. She took off the box top and it was wrapped in this dark black paper. As I looked more closely, the so called 'black paper' scattered. I almost fainted from fear. Yes, I have a bug phobia, especially to roaches. Yes, the roaches scattered all around my feet. I tried to act like this was very normal, as I think I didn't want Charlotte to feel ashamed or embarrassed about her home. She wasn't. Charlotte calmly proceeded to take out this beautiful clay sculpture of a woman's face that she did years ago. It was very detailed and I was so impressed at the talent she once possessed. I wondered what had happened to Charlotte through the years to have her living like this now. It was always an enigma.